


Perfect Imperfections

by BlessedAreTheFandoms



Series: Even When I Lose, I'm Winning [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Bashir is trying so hard, Claustrophobia, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Holodecks/Holosuites, It's hard work, M/M, Massage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Relationship Negotiation, Scars, Trust Issues, unhealthy people trying to have a healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedAreTheFandoms/pseuds/BlessedAreTheFandoms
Summary: After having survived the first attempt at giving Garak a massage, Julian Bashir is determined to do this again.Garak is less willing, but neither does he want to hurt the man who so obviously cares for him.  How can they meet in the middle?
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Even When I Lose, I'm Winning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730293
Comments: 25
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All titles in this series, including the series title itself, are nicked from John Legend's "All of Me" because the song ended up fitting very nicely over top of this dance.

The first two times Julian Bashir had asked Elim Garak if he would be willing to try a massage again, Garak had quite unequivocally refused. It was not that the experience had been unpleasant—to the contrary, Garak had quite enjoyed the looseness Julian had drawn out of him, the feeling not of being boneless but of being…present, aware of every scale and ridge and content to be so. It frightened him, how present he had been, how uncalculating, how vulnerable. He knew—could he say he trusted, even now?—that Julian would not hurt him, but Julian was not the only person on the station, in the universe.

He was, however, one of the most persistent.

“I’ll only ask this once more,” Julian said, sliding into the seat across from Garak at their usual replimat lunch table, “and then I promise you won’t hear of it again from me.”

“You promise?” Garak couldn’t help needling him.

“I promise,” Julian replied solemnly. “They say third time’s the charm, though.”

“Who says?”

Julian shrugged. “It’s an old human saying.”

“What a peculiarly unhelpful number.”

Julian sighed at him and picked up his fork. “I just want to make sure you have the option again, if you’re interested.”

“Because I can’t ask you myself?”

“Because you won’t.”

Garak didn’t have a retort to that that wasn’t cruel, so he focused on his lunch instead. Julian had, indeed, only asked twice in the last two months, which was the height of restraint for the eager doctor—but it was a terrifying ask. Garak didn’t know which he hated more—the subtle persistence of Julian ignoring his obvious distaste for the suggestion, or the fear that coiled in his belly at the idea of actually agreeing to it.

“Garak, would you be willing—”

“Fine.”

A beat. Two, as Julian stared at him, slack jawed. “Fine?”

“Fine.” Garak’s heart was beating too fast, his mind as shocked as Julian that he had agreed. It was a moment of impetuousness, of Garak’s anger at his own fear outrunning his natural self-preservation. It felt like stepping into the storage closet at Bamarran that first time.

It would probably end about as well.

“Are you sure?” asked Julian, looking worried.

“Julian, you are the one who has asked me to repeat this experiment, and you yourself just said that the third time is lucky. Why are you questioning me?”

“Because I didn’t think you were comfortable doing this.”

“They why did you keep asking? Surely that begins to look questionable in light of the consent I hear you championing to your patients.”

“Hang on,” said Julian, his brow pinching in a frown, “that’s not fair. I’ve kept asking you precisely _because_ I wanted your consent before springing something on you that would make you uncomfortable.”

“And the first negation was not the right answer?” Garak wasn’t sure whether he was angry with Julian or himself. It was sometimes both. He disliked when their arguments went this way rather than the way of playful disagreements, teasing and flirtatious squabbles that any Cardassian valued. Arguments like these were closer to fights, fights that had no winner and only hurt feelings, and having them in public made Garak like them even less.

“It was—there is no _right_ answer, Garak,” said Julian, breaking into Garak’s discomfort. “I just know that sometimes you say ‘no’ when you want to say ‘yes’ and sometimes ‘yes’ when you really mean ‘no’ and I wanted you to be able to change your original answer if it did actually change. I also wanted to give you some time to think it over, as you’re likely to feel differently about the first time two months out than you did the day right after.”

“I’m likely, am I?” Garak couldn’t stop himself from picking this fight and he hated it, hated that Julian was only trying to help but was so damn _human_ about it. “I’m glad I have you on hand, Doctor, to tell me how I feel about things and when I should feel them.”

Julian pushed away his plate. “That’s not what I meant, Garak, and you know that.”

“Then perhaps, if you’re aware of what I do and do not feel, what I do and do not know, you would also be willing to try this particular experiment? Shall we switch the roles and it can be _you_ on the table?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could soften them and Garak winced internally when Julian stiffened and swallowed visibly. Garak had not asked him about his own reticence to be the one receiving a massage, had held the information from their first time in the back of his mind for a much gentler information gathering. Using the fact of Julian’s discomfort like this, weaponized, was beneath him—though not as far as he would have liked, apparently. Garak the interrogator, Garak the great power of the Order, reducing his partner with low jabs and simple manipulations. _Lovely, Garak._

“If that’s what will make you comfortable,” said Julian, each word stilted.

Garak blinked. “What?”

“If my going through—if my allowing you to be the one doing the massage will make you more comfortable getting one, then I will do that.” His whole body was taut and he didn’t quite look Garak in the eye.

“Julian, that’s—you don’t mean that.” Garak felt helpless in the face of such foolish recklessness. Why would Julian make himself so obviously uncomfortable over a stupid massage? What was the purpose of such a sacrifice?

“I do. Would you like me to go first?”

Garak stared at him.

“Fine. Then we’ll do this tonight. Or do you need time to read up on techniques for humans?”

“Julian…”

“You let me know the time, Garak, and I’ll be there.” Julian stood up and gathered his uneaten lunch. “Tell me if I need to bring anything.” He walked away, every lanky inch of him screaming discomfort, and Garak was left alone to wonder what on Prime had gone so terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [flyingpiranhas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingpiranhas/pseuds/flyingpiranhas) and Lulu Bear, who encouraged me to keep exploring the theme of "Your Curves and All Your Edges." I hope this lives up to your expectations!


	2. Chapter 2

Garak closed the shop for the afternoon; he had no scheduled appointments and he knew better than to try and work with his mind so caught up in the tremendous failure of his lunch with Julian. It annoyed him that such a thing so easily got under his scales, but he could only process one relational misfortune at a time. The _fear_ that had clasped Julian like iron echoed in Garak’s memory; he had no idea what would cause such a thing in the guileless doctor. He closed himself in the back room and, keeping one eye on the clock, did indeed read through all the human massage manuals he could find. The process seemed rather simple but there were so many variations. Who knew there could be such a diverse range of options in simply kneading out tightened muscles? Julian was right, it relied a great deal on the knowledge of physiology. Garak felt he had a leg up, as it were, in already knowing what kind of pressure Julian could handle—though he remembered vividly Julian’s insistence that this exchange was not to be sexual. 

He leaned over the console and sighed. He’d be damned if he’d make this experience as bad as Julian was evidently dreading, but he felt both going through with it and backing out were equally harmful decisions. If Julian insisted on it, he would do this—but then what of the contingent offer? Was he willing to let Julian be the one in control again?

Finishing the manual he had pulled up on screen, Garak glanced at the time; Julian was coming off shift at the infirmary. He waited fifteen full minutes before standing, stretching, and heading out to Julian’s quarters to see what could be done about this mess.

***

Julian was just pulling a drink out of the replicator when the door chimed. He groaned and rolled his head, trying to ease the tension out of his shoulders; the irony of how he actually _could_ benefit from a massage chuckled darkly at him. The disastrous lunch weighed heavily, as did the lack of further communication from Garak. Perhaps this was him come to collect on the debt? Julian had said tonight, after all. 

He just hadn’t wanted it to be so soon.

“Come in,” he called, recognizing that putting it off was both going back on his word and simply delaying the inevitable. As he had thought, Garak came in, but he was far more subdued than Julian expected.

“Doctor, I realize you’ve only just come off shift and would like some time to unwind,” said Garak without preamble, and that lack alone made Julian set down his drink and pay attention, “but I really must protest the arrangement you made this afternoon.”

“Protest? That _I_ made?” Julian said. “How is this _my_ fault?”

Garak looked affronted. “ _I_ certainly had no intention of forcing you into this massage business.”

“I’m not being ‘forced,’ Garak.”

“Yet you do not want to do this.”

“I said I would if it would make you comfortable.”

“And how is your discomfort comfortable to me?”

“I don’t know!” said Julian, rather louder than he’d intended. “I don’t know, I just—I don’t want you to be scared of this. Of—of me.” He shrugged and crossed the room to flop on the couch, closing his eyes.

_Oh, my dear Julian,_ thought Garak. _You beautiful, beautiful fool._ “Doctor,” he said, following Julian and sitting primly on the opposite end of the sofa, “I am not scared of you.”

“Are you not?” said Julian, lifting his head. “Why else would you look so miserable when I bring this up?”

“Then why do you bring it up?” retorted Garak. 

“Because you liked it!” Julian was sitting up fully now, his hazel eyes blazing with frustration. “Damn it, Elim, I know that there are whole _floors_ in the house of you and your mind that I won’t ever be allowed to see, let alone experience, but I’m _trying_ to work with what you actually show me and I know one thing is that you are tense all the time and it hurts you. I’m a doctor, after all; I can see _that_ even without feeling the strain in you when we’re together. And I wanted you to see that there was a way you could allow yourself to let go _just a fucking little_ and you wouldn’t _die_ of it because I was there, I was _with_ you; hell, I was _causing_ it. And you—you let me, for just that once, and it was beautiful and it was a gift and I want you to be able to experience that again because you don’t, Elim, you don’t let go and it’s breaking you and I will ask you to do every damn thing I can find if it makes you happy for even one minute because I want that for you. Always.”

For a second, Garak had no idea how to respond. The anger in Julian was easiest to counteract, but it was spurred by a concern, a _love_ that Garak could not understand. It was astonishing to him that Julian not only cared enough to want something like peace for Garak but that he was willing to go to such great lengths to procure it, to fight for it. And that the naïve and oblivious doctor should have such a grasp on Garak’s natural state was alarming, to say the least. Truly, Garak had allowed himself to become more _seen_ than apparently even he knew. It was a gift—but one that handily obscured Julian’s own part in things.

“You want my happiness even at the cost of your own?”

Julian hunched over his knees, his long limbs jutting out oddly from the low couch. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Julian?” Garak shifted closer, laying a hand ever-so-lightly on Julian’s knee. “You can’t tell me you’re excited about the prospect of being the one receiving this.”

There was a long pause. Julian ran his hands through his hair, fingers tangling in the dark curls. “No,” he said at last, “I can’t.” He looked up at Garak, face set. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t go through with it if it will get you to trust me.”

Garak scowled and turned away. “You know it is not an exchange.”

“And I know it isn’t a payment, either, but I don’t know what else you want from me in order to convince you I mean you no harm.”

“I know that!” Garak burst out. “Do you think me stupid, Julian? Do you think you even _could_ harm me, should you get it into your mind to do so?”

“Yes.”

Garak’s eyeridges spiked in surprise.

“I—look, I know that there is a lot I don’t know about you, but I know enough to wound you pretty badly and I know that you do let your guard down just the slightest with me. And I treasure that because it is a _gift_ , it is an _honor_ for you to trust me even as little as you do. And you can deny that all you like, but I know it and you know it and you know that I know it. But I don’t know how to keep going with you when every new thing is suspect because I am suspect.”

“How have we returned to me?” said Garak. “Were we not discussing _your_ distaste for this exercise?”

Julian stood abruptly, rising almost a full meter above Garak. “We were not, but if you really want to go there, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Julian,” said Garak, standing as well, “I do not want to force secrets from you.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

Garak’s eyes went flat, ice blue creating a chilled distance between them.

“I—damn, I’m sorry, Garak. That was low. I know—I know you don’t deliberately use that skillset on me, at least not in moments like these. It’s just—you’re not the only one with things he’d like to keep to himself, okay?”

The idea that the doctor with his over-expressive face could keep anything to himself intrigued Garak, but now was not the time for such interest. “As I said, Doctor, I do not want to force anything from you.”

“I know. But you—you deserve to know. I’m just…I’m not ready yet, for that conversation. Is that—is that okay?”

It took an almost physical effort for Garak not to roll his eyes at the question. He, master of lies, weaver of all manner of false stories, had absolutely no standing from which to tell Julian that he had to divulge whatever made him so frightened. “It is okay, Julian. But I do not think it wise we proceed with this until after we both understand where we are and why we’re doing this.”

Julian took a deep breath. “That sounds very reasonable.” He reached a hand to his own neck, pushing against the tension obviously coiled there. “So, not tonight.”

“Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

The pair stood in silence for a moment.

“Garak, I’m sorry I’ve made this such a thing.”

Garak stifled a sigh. “My dear, everything between us is a ‘thing.’ It is what comes of two less-than-well-balanced people attempting to balance together.”

Julian smiled at him. “Someone’s been reading relationship columns.”

Snorting, Garak reached up and threaded a hand through Julian’s hair, lightly, gently. “Someone’s simply done quite a bit of observation over the years, more like.”

Julian leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. “Will you stay to dinner, Garak? We didn’t really eat lunch, and there are several boundaries and rules we need to talk about if we’re going to do this.”

The idea sounded entirely unromantic and miserable, but Garak understood its necessity. “I would be glad to, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are hard work, yo.
> 
> Thank you for comments and kudos on the first chapter! This is mostly a tale of these two fighting with each other because they're both terrified and oh, they know how to push each other's buttons. But they come to some kind of conclusion, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, neither boundaries nor rules came into the conversation. Dinner was enjoyed with a smattering of novels, music reviews, and a particularly spirited disagreement over Quark’s elastic understanding of bartender confidentiality, but both Garak and Julian left the main conversation that needed to be had well enough alone.

“Garak,” said Julian as the last dish was put back in the recycler, “I—”

Garak cut him off by laying one grey finger against Julian’s lips, surprising him into silence. “Perhaps we can have dinner tomorrow, Doctor? I find there are still some questions I have about this poet of yours, Donne. Quite a scandalous choice, I must say.”

Julian half-smiled under Garak’s finger. Garak pulled his hand away. “I think dinner tomorrow would be lovely,” Julian said. “Your quarters or mine?”

“I will return here, unless you have objection,” Garak decided, noting the return of tension in Julian’s shoulders.

“None,” said Julian. He sounded tired, suddenly, and Garak tilted his head and turned to leave. “Wait.” Julian gently turned him back around and kissed him, feather-light, on the lips. He leaned his forehead against Garak’s, smooth skin resting on ridged _ChUfa_ , and the pair breathed for a moment.

Just as Julian opened his mouth to speak again, Garak pulled away. “Good night, Doctor,” he said, and left before Julian could respond.

***

The following morning, Garak leaned over the table in his shop and rolled his head to loosen some of the tension in his neck ridges. He had slept poorly, his mind warring with itself over his desire to dig into Julian’s background further and find out what he was missing that made the doctor fret so. There were even several almost-legal ways he could do so, but he understood that Julian wanted to be able to tell him himself.

The idea that Julian could keep a secret from him was still laughable, but he was entertaining it for the moment. After all, he was constantly surprised by the Federation officer; Julian was awkward, naïve, and all too earnest in most of his interactions, but he was also a skilled and intelligent professional. Garak vacillated between a form of fond condescension and a deep respect for the man as he mulled over the possibilities of what Julian could be hiding.

Given the minor headache and the general discomfort in his body, he found himself voluntarily considering the massage Julian so wanted to offer. What would it be like to have those nimble fingers pushing deep into the muscles of his back, kneading the thick scales that covered his upper shoulders? He knew how it felt to have Julian’s hands roam over him, scratching and pulling while the man himself lay beneath him, but with that same measured touch from the first massage? It almost sounded—good.

Well, that was alarming. This whole mess had come about because he _didn’t_ want to be involved with Julian’s foolish ideas about massages.

Didn’t he?

Garak rolled his eyes at himself; this train of thought was going nowhere and was utterly unhelpful. Whether or not he was interested in trying Julian’s massage program again, the pressing issue at hand was hearing the doctor out in what was making him so very nervous. Garak shook himself and returned to the work at hand.

***

“Good evening, Garak,” said Julian as he answered the door chime personally.

“Greetings, my dear doctor,” Garak returned as he entered the room, hearing the door swish closed behind him. “I heard some uproar on the Promenade this afternoon; judging by the sound of it, you had at least a moment of excitement today at the infirmary.”

Julian rolled his eyes as he set plates down on the table. “You could call it ‘excitement,’ sure. A Bolian passing through had to have a bone reset after a fight he’d had and you’d think I was attempting to remove his arm and beat him with it for the fuss he put up about it. I was only trying to help, but I was worried he would tear apart the very biobed I had him in. Odo had to come settle things down.”

“You didn’t simply sedate him?”

“No, Garak; if I’m going to knock somebody out, I want to do so with their express consent. I only override them if they’re a clear danger to themselves or others.”

“Was he not a clear danger?”

Julian sighed as he slid into his chair, Garak mirroring him, and the pair began to pass the food between them. “He was frightened, though he’d never admit it, and people are generally dangerous when frightened, but I didn’t think taking away his autonomy would be helpful in the long run. He wasn’t really hurting anyone, just being very out of control.”

“Some would say that a person out of control is the clearest danger of all,” commented Garak drily.

Julian raised a knowing eyebrow at him. “Some would say that, indeed. But I’ve wrangled some out-of-control patients before and lived to tell the tale, so I took my chances that explaining things to him rather than simply overriding him was the better option.”

A memory of the pair of them tumbling over a biobed flitted through Garak’s mind and he was suddenly quite glad they weren’t in his quarters, staring at the spot on the floor where Garak had nearly choked the life out of the compassionate doctor.

“A fit metaphor, then, for the conversation we need to have,” Garak said, pulling himself away from the memory.

“What?”

“The fear and destructive tendencies of a man out of control—it seems apt for the discussion we must have this evening.”

Julian sighed and pushed his food around his plate aimlessly. “I was hoping it was a discussion for much later this evening.”

“Putting it off will not make it go away, and you yourself insisted that we discuss this.”

“I did, didn’t I.”

Garak reached over and laid one hand over Julian’s, grey skin enveloping bronze. “It seemed very important to you.”

Julian turned his own hand over to lightly grasp Garak’s. “It is. You know I don’t ever want to push you into doing something that you’re not comfortable with doing.”

“Yet you are curiously less attentive in ensuring the same consideration applies to yourself.”

Julian inhaled and held it a moment. “I don’t want to fight with you, Garak.”

Garak bit his tongue on the observation that he was not, in fact, trying to fight; if Julian saw rancor in a simple statement of fact, this could be a very trying conversation indeed.

“It’s just—there are some things…I don’t…” Julian huffed in frustration and pulled his hand away from Garak’s, running it through his own hair.

“There was a moment when I was leaning over my worktable today,” said Garak, pulling his own hand back and returning to his meal with an unconcerned air, “in which the tension in my ridges was quite painful indeed. I daresay it might be a good idea to ask a professional to help loosen them lest I have to resort to something as drastic as painkillers so that I might keep working.”

Julian looked up, his face a picture of surprise.

Rolling his shoulders theatrically, Garak continued. “Perhaps my recent commissions have required that I stoop more often than I normally would; regardless, Doctor, what would be your medical opinion on pain in muscle groups such as those?”

“I—I would recommend a massage, if you could find someone to give it. Tension is often eased out in physical realignment and doesn’t require something as drastic as pharmaceutical intervention.”

“Perhaps you might have a recommendation for where I could find a trustworthy person for this treatment?”

“Garak, I—are you sure?”

Garak set down his fork and focused on Julian. “Whatever your story, my dear, you are clearly not at a point to tell me it yet. In the meantime, I did agree to a second experiment—and without the contingency of your having to endure something that makes you so discomforted.” He held up a hand as Julian opened his mouth to interrupt. “Again, I do not need to know right now what that is, and I will not turn down your offer if it is freely given, but for now I believe I am in the one in need of attention and you are the one qualified to give it.”

Julian’s smile was sad but real. “You are a wonder, Elim Garak,” he said. “And one of the bravest men I know.”

The warmth of the compliments suffused Garak as though he were lying on a heated stone. “What a pitiful component of men you must know that I should rank so highly,” he countered, and Julian rolled his eyes. “So,” Garak continued. “What shall this be?”

“You’re sure?”

“Julian, if you ask me one more time, I’m going to insist Quark not allow you in his holosuites for a month so you can spend the time learning how to listen to other people.”

“Hey!” said Julian indignantly. He frowned. “Quark would probably listen to you, too.”

Garak did not respond. Of course Quark wouldn’t pass up that amount of latinum, even for someone he rightly feared as much as Garak, but Julian didn’t need to know that.

“Then—then let’s do the day after tomorrow, say, 1930? And I’ll make some adjustments. Are you—are you comfortable to try this time on your stomach?”

The stomach in question churned within Garak at the thought of such complete vulnerability.

“I’ll tilt the table,” Julian said. He clarified when Garak looked at him quizzically. “There are different kinds of massage tables, not just the one you laid on last time. Or no, you know what? I’ll switch to a chair; actually, that makes a lot of sense. Yes, we’ll do a chair.”

Images of Order suspects sitting in chairs across sterile tables flitted through Garak’s mind and the chased away the thought. It was highly unlikely Julian would interrogate him in the middle of a massage.

“And you can just go shirtless, this time; if you’re in a chair, I won’t really be working on your legs, so you can keep trousers on. Will that help?”

The eagerness to ease Garak’s uncertainty was almost painfully acute and Garak, in that moment, both loved and hated Julian for it. “We shall see,” he said neutrally.

Julian’s body visibly relaxed and Garak wondered how much he’d been dreading this conversation. “To the day after tomorrow, then,” said Julian, raising his glass in a kind of toast.

Garak raised his glass in answer, saying nothing as Julian asked him what he had wanted to finish saying about the poet Donne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, I will always and forever recommend the poetry of [John Donne](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-donne) because he was a wonderful and scandalous dude. A lot of his poems do intricate things with metaphors that mix the sexual and the spiritual and they are lovely. I have no doubt Garak would be horrified by Donne and secretly love him to pieces.
> 
> Second, yes, there will be a third work that gets into Julian's Stuff, but I haven't finished that yet, so keep a weather eye.
> 
> Thirdly, I always love being able to pull in Julian's job because it is just a wealth of metaphors but also because I love that side of him that truly cares for people and their pain (even if he canonically has no concept of appropriate professional boundaries).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to the actual massage! I come through on my plot promises, eventually.

Garak stood outside of their agreed-upon holosuite and breathed deeply, recognizing the edges of fuzziness in his mind. It was like being pushed underwater and yet still being able to breathe, this strange trust he had in Julian. It was foolish. It was sentimental. It was dangerous.

He went into the suite.

“Good evening, Elim,” said Julian, standing next to a contraption that seemed more like a torture device than anything Garak had seen on Deep Space 9. “I—I’m glad you came.”

Garak eyed the thing next to Julian warily.

“This is what we talked about—it’s a massage chair. I know it looks a bit odd, but I promise I’ve calibrated it so you can sit comfortably. Shall I demonstrate it?”

Circling it, Garak nodded. Julian folded his lanky self over the seat, bending his legs to rest on wide cushions, his arms held out in front of him, leaning his head into—

Garak's breath caught. No, that would not do at all.

“I’m afraid, my dear doctor, that that—headrest will not quite suit.”

Julian climbed off the chair and looked at the cushion and looked at Garak. “Oh, of course not!” he said, almost comical in his chagrin. “I didn’t even think about how it would put all sorts of uncomfortable pressure on your ridges, I’m so sorry. Let me fix it.” He walked over to a wall and called for the computer panel, beginning to issue commands as the top part of the chair vanished.

Garak felt his breath return. Julian was right; the thick, square padding would indeed have been discomforting to a non-human without their smooth faces, but it was far more pressing that the device had covered nearly all of Julian’s face. Garak’s claustrophobia, whose depth he kept even from his doctor, rose like bile in his throat at the thought of his face being trapped in plush cotton. He suppressed a shudder.

“There!” said Julian in triumph as a new headrest appeared on the chair. “When I was at the academy, we had to study all sorts of historical medicinal practices. This is based off of a chin rest that optometrists used to use to give eye exams. See? Your chin goes here and—well, I modified it, because the old ones had a top bar that would press right over your _ChUfa_ , so these two wings will hold the curve of your temples. Let me know if they still push against your ridges and I’ll fiddle with it. Would you—will you try it out?”

The new headrest was far more sparse, a simple bar with a padded cushion and two arms topped by smaller pads. It was thoughtfully done—and allowed Garak to still be able to see the room, he judged. 

“We shall see if my knees can bend as far as yours,” he grumbled at Julian as he approached the chair. He was surprised to find that the angle allowed him to put most of his weight on the device rather than his own joints; Julian had obviously taken care to adjust all angles and surfaces to support him comfortably. Even in his trepidation about this whole affair, Garak recognized the care inherent in it.

“Does it work for you?” Julian asked, almost wringing his hands.

“It suffices,” Garak replied, and Julian’s sigh of relief was audible.

“Well, then,” Julian said, “let’s get to it. Are you comfortable taking off your tunic?”

Garak had deliberately worn something less elaborate than usual, recognizing that he would need to shed it. He leaned back in the chair and slid off his top; Julian took it and draped it carefully over a stand by the window with the too-familiar stars. “Computer,” called Julian, “lights to forty percent; start playlist Bashir Soft Tones 3.”

The familiar strains of a Vulcan lute filtered into the dimmed room. “Are you ready, Elim?” Julian asked.

Garak took a deep breath and leaned forward, testing the feeling of his head against the padded rest. It was not altogether awful, though neither was it completely comfortable. _Good_ , Garak thought to himself. If there was still an edge underneath the relaxation, he would be less likely to slip fully out of the awareness that constantly thrummed under his skin. “I am ready, Julian,” he finally said.

He felt the pressure of Julian’s hands against his back, slowly walking up his spine. The warm heels pushed deep into the _mec’hUt_ , the broad scales covering his shoulder blades. It felt strange, almost like Julian was trying to pull them out slowly, and Garak tensed at the thought.

“Keep breathing, Garak,” said Julian, his tone professional but soothing. “And remember, let me know if anything suddenly hurts.”

Garak almost nodded but realized he couldn’t with his head in the strange, unfinished box. “I will,” he said instead, making sure the doctor knew he’d heard.

“Good; very good, thank you,” answered Julian, and that damn warmth dashed through Garak. He realized he _wanted_ to hear Julian tell him he was doing well, tell him his response was right, was good.

How pathetic he had become.

Small circles pressed next to his spinal ridge pushed his _ChUla_ into the rectangular pad against his torso, not hurting the ridges that crisscrossed his chest and stomach but compressing them oddly. Julian’s deft fingers were just short of actually hurting him as they kneaded out his lower back.

“Garak?” asked Julian tentatively.

“Hmm?”

“These—this—” Rather than articulate his question, he draw a soft finger on a diagonal just above Garak’s left hip.

Another scar. Garak sighed. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” said Julian. “I’m sorry, I know we went through this before, it’s just—this is a pretty long scar. It…it’s quite likely that was a life-threatening wound.”

It had been indeed, but Garak was in no mood to explain that to the man who consistently seemed surprised by Garak’s less-than-safe life. “I did not die of it,” Garak said instead, opting for the obvious.

Julian’s hands returned to the short drags of pressure working up to Garak’s shoulders. “I’m glad,” he said simply, and Garak hated and loved him for how much he could put into one simple statement.

“It is merely an imperfection now,” continued Garak, unsure why he was still explaining this.

Julian’s soft chuckle behind him was both sad and fond. “It is a perfect imperfection,” he said. “As with the scars on your front, I wish you didn’t have it because I wish you didn’t know that kind of violence, but it is part of you, part of the map of you, and oh, Garak.” He paused, sweeping his hands down Garak’s scales to the ridges running along the tops of his hips. “I want to learn all of you.”

 _I must be out of my mind to let him wish for such foolish and irrational things_ , Garak thought to himself, but then Julian’s nimble fingers were kneading up his spine again and Garak said nothing at all, letting himself breathe through the pressure and the pain.

After some time—Garak was mortified, somewhere in his mind, that he couldn’t say exactly how long—Julian moved to stand in front of him, his hands working the ridges rippling down Garak’s shoulders. The stance put Garak’s face right at Julian’s waistline and Garak idly noted the sexuality of the position before letting it go. As with the first massage, Julian’s firm boundary that this not be sexual settled over Garak like a blanket and he found himself aware of the possibility but uninterested in it. This was not that, and judging from Julian’s focus on squeezing and circling various muscle groups it was not sexual for him, either.

How strange, this new level of separated intimacy.

His train of thought was curtailed as Julian found a mass of tightness in Garak’s shoulder. Garak gasped, remembering Julian’s earlier advice to keep breathing.

“I know your ridges are supposed to be stiffer,” said Julian, leaning into Garak to get better leverage, “but this is like _plastisteel_ under here. What are you even _doing_ to yourself?”

Garak huffed in response and then sucked in another sharp breath as Julian probed the tissues. 

"In, and out,” Julian said gently, demonstrating as he worked through the tension.

“Easy—for you—to say,” panted Garak, scrabbling to remember all of his tricks to displace pain. He quieted the shock in his mind and kept breathing and Julian soon moved to another area, gently smoothing out the scales.

“It isn’t,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“It isn’t easy for me to say. I don’t actually like causing you pain, you know.”

Garak sighed. He really did hate having these intimate conversations when at such a physical disadvantage, but then he also understood they likely wouldn’t have them otherwise. “I know,” he said instead.

The pair continued in silence for a long time as the gentle music drifted overhead, Garak leaning deeper and deeper into the chair as Julian unwound his body. By the time Julian lifted his hands from Garak’s back, he was almost relaxed.

Almost.

“Thank you, Garak,” said Julian, coming around and squatting down so that his face was level with Garak’s.

“Should I not be thanking you, Doctor?”

“You can, if you like, and you’re welcome, but thank you for letting me do this. For—” He grimaced. “For _trusting_ me, with you.”

Garak stared at him a moment, reading the thousand emotions dancing in plain sight over the man’s expressive face. He reached out and cradled Julian’s head a moment before pulling him in for a light kiss. “You’re welcome,” he said. The two paused there a moment, Julian’s forehead resting lightly against Garak’s _ChUfa_ , Garak’s hand toying with the curls of his hair.

“Now,” said Garak, breaking the peace, “it will have to be part of your work to help me out of this contraption, as I think my knees have lost the capability of unbending.”

Julian laughed as he stood, reaching out a hand to help his beloved unfurl. "I promise I won't let you fall," he said, and Garak nearly believed it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, commenting, and engaging this story. It's been a delightful and tricky challenge to write, as neither of these two is any good at intimacy. As I've mentioned, there will be one more installment focusing on Julian's nervousness, which will likely also be longer than I currently think.
> 
> Also, for those who are visually inclined, the chair I have in mind looks rather like [this](https://cdn1.bigcommerce.com/n-63unu/mq5kc6h/products/152/images/469/Oakworks_Portal_Pro_3_Massage_Chair_Navy__50633.1396610846.1280.1280.JPG?c=2) and the optometrist's headrest is a modified version of [this](http://www.eyecareandcure.com/93375.jpg).


End file.
